


Nice Day

by PoisonKisses



Series: Siren Citizens of Gotham [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham City Sirens (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Spring, first of may
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: Mike encounters zany Harley and sexy Ivy enjoying a walk on the boardwalk.





	Nice Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first of May, a little Ivyharley fluff, as promised, after my last couple of depressing things. Hope you like it.

Mike was happy.

He’d gotten up at 5 am that morning, the morning of May 1st, after hearing the weather report: bright, sunny, warm...not hot, with a cool breeze that would blow the smog and pollution and smell of Gotham out. As he was rolling the cart out, sure enough, it was already shaping up to be a good day. He snagged prime real estate on the boardwalk--near a couple of park benches and not far from an actual picnic table, and he set up within minutes. Rita was going to watch Little Mikey all day--she had the day off from the diner--and Mike was hopeful. He might make rent today, if he was lucky. Gothamites would be out in droves to enjoy a rare, sunny day. He brought along extra dogs, extra buns, extra sodas...pretty much extra everything!

People--smiling, happy people having fun--showed up quickly. He got everything warmed up, sold a bunch of sausage sticks early on and around 9:30 started switching over to dogs, chili, the works.

Mike was a people person, he liked seeing happy people, and God knows Gotham was not a happy city. Here, today, with no signs of craziness, no violence, he couldn’t stop grinning. He called Rita and chatted a few minutes right before lunch time. Little Mikey was banging his high chair and saying “NO NO NO NO” over and over--the only word besides “Mama” he knew. 

Life was good.

Then the guys showed up. They were younger than he, mid 20s maybe, and they wore their nastiness and arrogance as much as the fedora one had on and the Pepe the Frog tee shirt another did. They claimed the picnic table nearby, four of them, and sat there, vaping, making snide comments to passers by, especially girls, and loudly saying things that would drive away customers--racist things about Jews, about black people. It was making Mike uncomfortable. He just wanted to serve up his hot dogs in peace! 

The douchebags had already chased off a nice gay couple who’d stopped for chili dogs, calling them slurs and laughing, and when he’d tried to ask them to cut it out they’d called him a “cuck,” whatever that was, and flipped him off, daring him to do something.

Mike was a brawny guy from his time in the Navy, and normally he’d have tossed the little pipsqueaks off the boardwalk, but his spot here wasn’t strictly legal...no permit, who could afford those? The cops wouldn’t hassle him, look the other way, if he hooked them up with a freebie or two, and he was glad to toss em an ice water here or a bag of chips there. Most of those guys were just hard working mooks too, and they knew a blue collar guy like Mike couldn’t afford those ridiculous fees some jackass in a suit had decided on at City Hall that only served to make life difficult for a working entrepreneur like him.

The Hot Dog cart was the beginning of his dream. His and Rita’s. She didn’t want to be a waitress forever. He wanted his own diner, him and Rita, but money was hard to come by, and spots were expensive, even on the outskirts of the East End. 

No, he couldn’t risk the cops having to intervene, looking too closely at his nonexistent permit. At best it would mean having to move, and at worst a fine he couldn’t begin to afford. So he fumed, wishing he could do something to be rid of the little shits. 

The way they talked to girls as they walked by--lewd, rude, terrible things they’d say--had him close to deciding to call the day short. They catcalled any attractive girl they saw, describing in detail what they wanted to do to them and then calling them sluts and whores when they’d hurry by, obviously scared and uncomfortable. Mike hated it.

So when he saw _them_ , he knew shit was about to go down…

The girls were gorgeous. Now, Mike loved his Rita, she was the love of his life, in fact, but Mike wasn’t dead, and these girls were just, dayum.

The shorter one, the blond, was cute. Bouncy and perky, with bright blond pigtails. She was pale, with big impish blue eyes, a big grin--one of those catchy grins it was hard to see and not grin back. She was wearing a string bikini top and cut off jean shorts, baring her midriff. The girl was in shape--you could count her abs, her lithe body lined with solid, flat, attractive muscle. An athlete--gymnast maybe. She was singing as they came up, exaggerating the sway of her hips, bumping her companion’s with hers on purpose, and occasionally looking at her, singing to her. Mike could hear she was making up words to her own version of ‘Mambo Number 5.”  
__  
A litle bit of Pamela in the sun!  
A little bit of Pammie all night long!  
A little bit of Ivy if she’s mean!  
A little bit of Red so eat ya greens!  
  
Her voice was nasal and accented, New York he thought, and she was flat, but she was having so much fun he found himself grinning at her.

The other one, the taller one, was just...wow. She was the kind of woman that shut a guy’s brain down--took him straight back to his caveman days. She was tall, with legs that went on longer than one of Mayor Hill’s “Gotham is getting better” speeches and curves so dangerous the Beach Boys would write a song about them. It was the hair that really drew the eye--long and thick, silky curls the color of fire. This girl could have been a shampoo commercial model. She was wearing a simple green sun dress, wedge heeled sandals. Gorgeous green eyes, full, pouty lips--she was sex on two legs.

They were holding hands, fingers interlocked, and strolling toward him.

“Morning, girls! Can I interest ya in a hot dog?” He called out to them. The blonde stopped her song, eyes going comically wide.

“Oh emm gee, Red, I gotta have a chili dog! Oh pleeeeease!” She was bouncing from one foot to the other--her sneakers mismatched (one red, one black.) “I need a chili dog!” She then changed her song, this time to the tune of ‘Macho Man.’

_Chili, chili doooog, I want to have...a chili dog!_

“I don’t believe anyone in the history of time has ever actually ‘needed’ a chili dog, sweet pea, but sure.” Her voice matched her body--deep and breathy. If SHE recited one of old Hill’s Gotham speeches, he would have listened for the whole thing. He smiled at them as they walked up, the blond appreciatively breathing in the smell of chili and the redhead flashing a warm smile at him as she perused the menu.

“Oh, I died and went to chili heaven,” the blond commented.

“Do you have any vegan or vegetarian options?” the redhead asked.

“Oh, yes ma’am, tofu dogs. They’re pretty good, actually, can I make you one?” Mike liked her...he liked them both--liked their dynamic, they reminded him of him and Rita. Definitely a couple.

“Alright. We’ll take a double chili dog, a tofu dog--plenty of relish please, a bag of the barbecue chips, a cherry vanilla pepsi, and one of those sweet teas.” The blonde piped up.

“Wait, barbecue? I kinda want sour cream an’ onion, Red.”

“Ugh, sweetie, do you want your breath to smell like onions the rest of the afternoon?”

“No, but...yum? Pweease?” She stuck her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, the redhead smirked and rolled her eyes. 

“You’re lucky I have some of those mints I made, or no kissing for you.”

“YES!” the blonde pumped her arm in victory, and then the redhead dug her hands in the pockets of the blonde’s jean shorts. The blonde let her, “RAWR, I can’t b’lieve ya think I’m that kinda girl, Red. Buy me lunch and have ya way with me? Oo, a little to tha’ left!” She started to shake her leg, making a scratching motion, “That’s it, me likey!”

“Honestly, Harley, you’re going to embarrass this nice man.” She’d fished out a roll of bills. Mike had been blushing a little, especially when she’d mentioned kissing, because the idea of these two kissing was...well...amazing. But then, she called the blonde ‘Harley,’ and Mike realized who they were, remembered the song mentioning ‘Ivy.”

_Oh. Shit._

Mike busied himself making the dogs, the blonde cheering him on. 

_It’s ok. They may be on Gotham’s most wanted list, but they weren’t here to cause trouble...they just wanted some hot dogs. You’re ok, Mike,_ he thought to himself.

Harley freaking Quinn, the blonde, gathered up the food and marched off to claim the nearest park bench. Poison freaking Ivy handed him a fifty.

“Keep the change, and thank you. We just want lunch, not trouble. She glanced at the blonde, her sharp gaze softening. “She deserves a day of semi-normalcy, don’t you think?”

He took the bill. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m just tryin’ to make a living, save up for my own restaurant. I don’t judge. You girls are beautiful and it’s a nice day. That’s all I can ask for.”

She turned back and smiled at him, glancing down at the name tag Rita had made for him. “Thank you, Mike. That actually is very kind of you to say. We all need an occasional nice day.” She walked off, and Mike put the fifty in his till, grinning.

Then things became not nice.

Ivy had just sat down, Harley already shoveling chili into her mouth, when one of the guys walked over. He was tall and lanky, but in an unhealthy, too skinny sort of way. He was the one with the fedora on, and he tipped his hat and said, “Afternoon, ladies.”

Poison Ivy didn’t look at him. “Go away.”

Harley was chewing, so in lieu of speaking she just flipped the guy the bird.

Ivy smirked, but added, “Smaller bites, sweetie. Yikes.”

Harley managed something muffled. “Mmfthoorrry, ithfreeliegoofff”

“I have something big she can put in her mouth,” the guy said. His friends hooted in approval.

 

“Oh, no, we’re not doing this.” Mike saw Ivy stand and she was saying something to the guy, who just stood there. She brushed his face with just the tips of her fingers. Then she sat back down, crossed her legs, and opened her tea.

The guy turned and slowly walked back to his friends. Mike heard her say to Harley, “Twenty bucks and a massage on the one with the frog shirt.”

By now Harley had swallowed. “Oh, nah, the chubby one. He’s gotta lotta rage in him.” They touched their drinks together. Without warning, the guy she’d touched charged into his friends with a guttural roar, punching, kicking, biting. The four of them were full on brawling in seconds, and Mike stared in shock.

He met Ivy’s gaze, and the woman smirked at him, then winked. Mike slowly grinned and gave her a thumbs up.

The cops cleared them away while the girls ate, watching. The gathered crowd decided they all needed hot dogs, so Mike was busy. They were tossing their trash in the nearby bin when Mike called out.

“Hey, ladies, who won the bet?”

Harley grinned. She had her arm tucked in with Ivy’s. Ivy answered. “The fourth one, so neither of us. I guess we’ll just have to exchange massages.”

“Woah, mama! I know what I want massaged!” When an older woman standing nearby gave her a scandalized look, she immediately and defensively exclaimed, “My FEET! What? Getcher mind outta the guttah, lady!”

***

It was a week later when Mike heard the doorbell ring. Rita was ironing her crisp little uniform, and little Mikey was sitting in the floor, fascinated with a ball and the fact he couldn’t fit it into his mouth. The game was on, the Knights were getting killed, but his beer was cold and Rita looked cute in her underwear.

Things were good.

He hopped up, yelling, “I’ll get it, babe,” and went to the door. 

No one was around, but a package wrapped in paper and tied with string was lying on their welcome mat. After thoroughly looking for whomever had dropped it off, Mike plucked it up and shut the door, throwing the deadbolt out of habit, and took the package to the kitchen table.

“What is it, honey?” Rita asked, and he grinned, swatting her behind, which made her giggle and grab onto his arm.

“No idea,” he said, grabbing a kitchen knife and working on the string. Rita opened the card and read aloud.

_Good luck and remember vegan options. Thanks for making our day nice. H and I_

Mike gasped, had to sit down. Fifty grand, the contents of the package, would go a long way toward their dream.


End file.
